


Made Men

by peoriapeoria



Series: Forged [2]
Category: The Dresden Files - All Media Types
Genre: Going Slow, M/M, POV, Post-Whammy, relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 15:36:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1020398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peoriapeoria/pseuds/peoriapeoria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Marcone is not the tough he once was, nor spelled to reprise his younger self. He's got his Wizard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Made Men

Marcone has a penchant for leather couches, deep ones with high backs. I think we've made out on all of them. Let me explain. I'm Harry Dresden, Chicago's yellow pages listed Wizard and John is the head of the Outfit. Our paths intersect more often than you'd think, and that's not entirely because he's Baron, the first purely mortal free-holding lord. Yeah, the head of the Outfit is also liege lord of every man, woman, child in Chicago and a few entities more. That's partly my doing.

I clenched my fingers in John's hair, sprawled on one of those tightly sprung couches. I could never have imagined this, the most dangerous man in Chicago besides myself making love to me. He'd been whammied, his memories clouded so he thought himself the tough he'd been before he took Chicago, and then thrown in with me. I'd been thorn-manacled, my magic out of reach, and we weren't the easiest of allies. It had been disconcerting when he decided I was the best thing since grand theft auto.

He turned that focus to taking down our captors once I told him they wanted Chicago. I might have mentioned that he'd taken the city from Vargassi. I might have missed the attention, and paid a bit more to how he moved as he formed and sprung his trap. What was surprising, was how it didn't disappear when the whammy burnt away, when Marcone remembered who he was, who we were.

No, what was surprising was me going to Marcone and setting into motion testing the suspension of all his couches. I clenched my fingers, holding his head on my stomach. I still don't know what he sees in my chest. "John."

He looked up at me. Emerald ringed black. I did that. I wanted him to take me to bed. We hadn't, hadn't hadn't-- We just hadn't. He kissed my stomach sweetly and I loosened my grip. I was so hard as he kissed and nipped and licked towards the waistband of my jeans.

We'd seen each other, taken ourselves in hand, thrust against each other zippers down. Neither of us are teenagers. He nuzzled me, unzipped me, and took me into his mouth. I was in his mouth. I'd have popped if I hadn't been so surprised. He looked good with my cock, his lips wrapped around, it didn't diminish him. I can't express, don't have words for, he took me apart. He knew what he was doing, he was utterly in control, and he was enjoying himself like I was a new car. I tried to warn him, and he just was more insistent in bringing me off, in swallowing.

Once I had wits to gather I pulled him up onto the couch. I couldn't think with him on his knees. He licked his palm and unwrapped a mint one handed, popping it into his mouth. I wanted him. I kissed him.

"That's not mint." I'd just had my mind unwound. John deserved to look smug. "The candy is not a mint."

"Want one?" He put his hand in his pocket. 

I stole the one in his mouth. Borrowed. I tamped down both the flute and woodwind jokes when our lips finally parted. I heard him crunch the sliver of candy. We were still pressed together. I jangled. Even John can't unwrap a candy silently. It wasn't white and red, green or blue. I thought it had been swirled, he slipped it between my lips quickly. Anise, maybe a touch of cloves. Sugar, real cane sugar.

"Harry."

Stars and swinging bells how my name sounded in his mouth. I kissed him again and we made out. I started laughing. I couldn't stop, because I realized why his couches were so short; I'm tall but John's a big man too. His couches were like backseats. "Are you purring?" He'd only hugged me tighter instead of taking affront at my mirth. He scratched his fingers against my scalp and I might have rumbled some pleasure myself.

"Take me to bed. Take me to your bed."

"Will you stay the night?"

After everything, the reckless battle against the Denarians on the train, the fight in House Raith's caves, the tiger trap he became bait for, this was the first time--"I'll wake you before I go." I couldn't promise, and I didn't want anything to get ideas. He blinked in acknowledgment, then pulled me up and escorted me to his bed. John stripped me and himself and held up the covers. I didn't doubt, as he sprawled over me and fell asleep that there was a gun under our pillow or at least in reach of his hand. I stroked his spine with the same free hand... No need to borrow trouble. It's got my number. I'm in the book.


End file.
